


Lemon Addicts

by SnowWhiteKnight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Adult Themes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Architectual Firm, Cleaning Service, F/M, Fluff, Lust at First Sight, Mild Language, Oblivious Mutual Attraction, Silly, flirtation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-14
Packaged: 2018-07-23 12:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7462917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowWhiteKnight/pseuds/SnowWhiteKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, you find yourself addicted to the strangest things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sandor

**Author's Note:**

> Just a silly little something. Hope you like it.

My name is Sandor Clegane and I am a lemon addict.

It started innocently enough. I work with my friends from college, we started the Blackwater, Clegane, Lannister & Associates Architectural Firm. I do designs and have no contact with the clients. Tyrion and Bronn are the face of the company. It’s a dream come true. Then Tyrion hired someone to come clean the office. She’s fucking beautiful. Probably the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot since Tyrion and Bronn are magnets for beautiful women. She came in twice a week and uses a lemon soap. No harsh chemicals as I had requested, because it aggravates the scar tissue on my face. The thing is, she cleans while I’m there, no way around it due to building policy, and whenever she bends over I would often have a great view of her ass or down the front of her shirt as the gentle scent of lemons would hit my nose. She has a terrific ass. Even better tits. And she likes to wear shirts that have a loose neckline. It was difficult to concentrate while she cleaned. I scared her at first, but she seemed to get over it quickly enough, or at least be able to work around it. I even made small talk with her since I wasn’t about to get any work done. I wasn’t pleasant or even nice in these talks, but she chirped like a little bird, happy and diligent in her words and her work. I didn’t get a complete hard on, but I would be uncomfortable enough to need to take myself in hand after she left. Thank fuck the only windows in my office are to the outside and that my office is far above the street. 

After a few months of that, she got brave enough to look me in the eye. Did I mention the scars? They’re off-putting, but she was polite enough to not mention them. The small talk continued, became more like medium talk. She likes romance movies, but is incredibly picky about romance novels. She has a dog named Lady that had to stay with her parents when she moved to the city. She’s afraid of spiders. And large birds, for some reason. I get the spiders thing, but birds? She likes to sing, and that I believe, though I have yet to hear her. She has a lyrical voice, much nicer than my own gravel. She also ignores my rudeness and crudeness, and sometimes laughs at my awful jokes. I start telling her she’s missing spots just so I can see her perfect ass as she bends over. 

Her schedule changed. She started coming to clean in the afternoon instead of the mornings, usually taking just long enough for the day to end and would walk out with me. I perfected the art of walking while semi-hard and no one noticing. Took a while, but having a messenger bag that I can hold in front of me helped a lot. The first time I walk her to her car, I’m extremely tempted to push her up against her vehicle and at least ravish those lovely lips if I can’t ravish her entire body. I brushed a lock of hair behind her ear instead. Red hair, soft hair. I wonder if it smells like lemons, too. Turns out, she wears a citrusy perfume, light but the lemon is strong with it. I walk her to her car quite frequently, and I begin to envision taking her up against the building, burying my nose in her lemon scent as I buried my cock in her cunt, listen to her pant and moan my name as I waved goodbye to her. Figures she’d have a lemon-yellow bug to drive.

Over the next few months, the medium talk became large talk. She’s in school, but does work as a cleaner to make extra cash. She has a large family, mostly brothers and a sister who acts like a brother. She likes to sit on the edge of my desk when we talk and worries that she’s being too distracting. As long as all my work is done by the time she gets there, she’ll never be a distraction. 

That’s what I tell myself repeatedly when she said, “If there’s anything at all I can do to please you further, please don’t hesitate to ask, Mr. Clegane.” Fuck me sideways, does she even know what she’s saying?

She started bringing me sweets, too. Lemon drops. Lemonade snaps. Lemon cakes. Even feeds them directly to me once in a while, smiling sweetly as her fingers brush my lips. Once she brought lemon mead that she had brewed herself. The shorts she wore got shorter, her t-shirts tighter and more low-cut. It was getting harder and harder to hide my full-blown erections. I was getting them all the time, not just on the days she came to clean. I would go out to dinner with my business partners and clients, and the very sight of the lemon wedge that came with our water glasses would have me raring to go. I have to start asking for no lemon or get a drink that doesn’t come with it.

It got so bad that I finally asked her to stay after everyone else had left. Well, more like growled. She raised an eyebrow, but agreed. 

“What the hell are you doing to me?” I demanded.

“I’m not sure I know what you are referring to, Mr. Clegane.” She is the picture of innocence, genuinely confused by my turmoil.

_ “This,” _ I stood up angrily and pointed at the bulge in my pants, “is what I’m referring to. For the past seven months, you’ve been waltzing in here with your long legs, that cute little ass, juicy, bouncing tits, lips that just beg to be ravished and just driving me to insanity!” 

She stared at me with a slightly open mouth. Then she starts laughing.


	2. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I might have mixed up my present and past tenses. I tried to fix them all, but let me know if you see any!

My name is Sansa Stark and I...I am a lemon addict.

It started innocently enough. I love lemon flavored sweets in general, I have loved them my whole life, but I have never actually been _addicted_ to lemons, no matter what Arya says. I came to this city to study fashion at the prestigious Fashion Academy of King’s Landing. My parents pay for my tuition and dormitory, but all other expenses are up to me. I have had several jobs since coming to this city, my most recent is the only one I haven’t been fired from yet, but that’s because I’m rather good at it. I clean offices for Blackwater, Clegane, Lannister & Associates Architectural Firm. They pay very well, since they are the premiere architectural firm in all of Westeros. Getting a meeting with them is equivalent to getting an audience with the King of ancient times. (YAY for modern democracy!)

It’s a small firm, one of many in the Baratheon Tower building. Mr. Tyrion (he refuses to be called Mr. Lannister) told me I could only use natural cleaning supplies, which I use anyway (it's one of my selling points). His wife is a vegan/organic/health nut and one of his partners has skin issues, so it’s really two birds with one stone. The third partner, Mr. Blackwater, doesn’t care, and is hardly in his office anyway. Neither is Mr. Tyrion for that matter. There are various associates who I see but they don't notice me much. Oh, and there’s an intern, Mr. Tyrion’s nephew and son of the building owner, but he gives me the creeps and I try to stay away from him. That leaves Mr. Clegane and the reason for my addiction.

Baratheon Tower has a building policy that states anyone not associated with the Tower or directly employed by a tenant of the building cannot be left alone in the building. I am technically a contract worker, and not an employee, so I have to have someone who works there be with me at all times. Thankfully, Joffrey does not count as an employee. Mr. Clegane, on the other hand…

I use a special mix of mild soap, water and lemon juice. It makes the office smell nice and fresh. My previous clients absolutely loved it, though they had to terminate use of my services due to cutbacks. Fortunately, they recommended me to Mr. Tyrion. The first day I cleaned the office, I was terrified. It was just me and Mr. Clegane and I thought he was going to murder me! No lies. He has these horrible burn scars on half his face, which is pretty intimidating by themselves, but even worse is that look in his eyes, like he’s the big bad wolf who’s going to eat up all the baby goats while Mama Goat was out. I froze that first day, until he growled at me to get on with it. I hurried to start cleaning, but I could feel his eyes on me the entire time. My heart was already beating fast from fear, but the thought that he was staring at me, while everyone else had simply ignored "the help", _that_ made my heart skip a beat. I liked feeling his eyes on me. It was so strange. That should have been my first clue.

The next time was easier, and I spoke a little bit to Mr. Clegane, though he was still glaring at me, so I couldn’t look at him straight on. He mostly watched me work. He did ask me questions sometimes. I think he just hated the tension and silence between us. I asked a few questions back and he answered in grunts or rude snorts. It was kind of funny. Working there got even easier after I realized some things. First, he’s actually a nice guy, and he’s kind of lonely. Mr. Tyrion has his wife, Mr. Blackwater has his girlfriend, but Mr. Clegane seemed to have no one outside of his colleagues and his family, of which there were more than a few pictures of black haired, grey-eyed relations that looked like Mr. Clegane.

After a month of this odd small talk, Mr. Tyrion pulled me aside to ask how everything was going. I told him everything was fine, and it was the truth. He seemed relieved and told me that previous cleaning services had quit after a week or two because they found Mr. Clegane too intimidating. I can see how they would feel that way, but one of my other realizations was that Mr. Clegane seems to be all bark and no bite. Well, at least around me. I have yet to see him around even his partners. He loosened up after another month, actually talking in multiple complete sentences during the small talk. It took another month before he stopped glaring and I could look him in the eye easily. He has beautiful eyes, when he's not angry and glaring, like liquid Valyrian steel.

I started saving his office for last, simply so that I could take all the time available to be with him. (I get a flat fee for cleaning two days a week, not an hourly rate, so I didn’t feel like I was abusing my time there.) He likes dogs, so I told him about Lady, my wolf/husky mix and he showed me a photo of his black labrador, Stranger. He prefers comedy and action to drama films, which lead to a debate on John McClane versus Frank Martin. He works out for fun and spars with Mr. Blackwater on a regular basis. He can eat a lot and he does, mostly takeout. He’s actually pretty funny. He even started making “you missed a spot” jokes, usually pointing at the coffee table that sits on the opposite side of his office. I went along with the joke and cleaned the coffee table each time. It took me a month of that to realize it was just an excuse to check out my bottom. Mr. Clegane was such a middle-schooler in this sense. It was quite adorable.

I should have been furious. If Joffrey or Mr. Blackwater had done that, I know I would have been. (Mr. Tyrion wouldn’t stoop to such tactics. His wife, Shae, would kill him. She’s the general manager in the company and she is _so_ nice. She asked me out to get tea and biscuits with her the first week I started and we go out every weekend now.) With Mr. Clegane though, I felt...flattered. He’s not terrible to look at once you get used to the scars and his gruff manner. He’s actually kind of cute in a very glowering, predatory sort of way. Definitely handsome, though in a very non-classical way. Older than me, too, but what's thirteen years when he's so yummy? And oh gods, his arms, his chest, his shoulders...they are so massive and muscular. I’m fairly certain he could bench press two of me without any problem. Maybe even three of me. He stays seated at his desk while I work, but I bet the rest of him is just as muscular. I think he’s tall, but it’s hard to tell since he doesn’t stand up. After four months of working there, I started to wonder if he’s in a wheelchair like Bran. I mean, why doesn’t he ever stand up? I wouldn’t care if he was. Just because his legs might not work doesn’t mean _other_ things won’t. And even if _other_ things don’t work, we could still have fun. Yes, I still wanted to have fun with this man when I thought his ding-dong might not work. That probably should have been my second clue. Or maybe the initial feeling of flattery was the second clue? Who knows.

I started to find more excuses to bend over. The lower half of his office has never been so clean. Or the front of his desk for that matter. In case he wanted a peek down my shirt. I could feel his eyes on me, devouring me. My tummy fluttered each time and I felt a slight tightness in my lower abdomen. I also felt a slight wetness between my legs. He makes little noises that I’m not certain he’s aware of, quiet groans and snuffles. All the while, the scent of lemons is in the air. Even when I am in the other offices and there are walls and doors between us, the scent stays with me, and I can feel his eyes on me, making me tingle all over. As soon as I get home on cleaning days, I immediately get into the shower and use the detachable massaging shower head to relieve the pressure Mr. Clegane created in me. I imagine him watching me, remember the feeling as I find my peak. Thank the gods my dormmates are almost never home!

When I signed up for the next semester, I decided to move all my classes to the morning and early afternoon on the days I clean at the firm. That way, I can spend the late afternoon cleaning and maybe, just maybe, I could get him to walk me to my car. And maybe...just _maybe,_ he'll ask me out. It was a long shot, but I was desperate. If that didn't work, I would bite the bullet and ask him myself. Maybe. The thought of asking him out excited and terrified me.

At this point, even mixing up the cleaning concoction made me horny, because I simply remember how he makes me feel whenever I smell lemons. He started walking me out at the end of the day (well, that answers that question), always carrying his messenger bag full of work to take home. He’s so dedicated to his job! The first time he walked me to my car, I had thought he might kiss me. He did not, but he brushed a stray lock of hair back behind my ear and my skin felt like it was on fire from where he touched. He commented on how I smelled of lemons and I dumbly told him it was a citrus based perfume. I should have asked him if he’d like a more intimate whiff, but like the dolt I am, I didn’t. I did start wearing skimpier clothing (however, I keep a long jacket with me for cover up in case I run into anyone else) and bringing him homemade sweets.

I only ever really make lemon based desserts (I _did_ start off liking lemons before I ever met this guy, after all), but they just add to my obsession with him. I have to cajole him to try the desserts every time I bring a new one in, and even go as far as feeding it to him. I could feel electricity pass between us as my fingers accidentally (on purpose) touch his lips. I want to lean in and taste him, but my nervousness keeps me from doing it. I went out of my way to try and make a lemon mead. I could have made strawberry or blueberry, but I didn’t. When I think of him, I think of lemons. It wasn’t half bad, actually. I wondered how it would taste if I drank it from his mouth, or if I poured it over him and licked it off of his muscles. Probably would taste a bit hairy if I did it over his chest, but I still want to find out. He’s like a bear! He started rolling his sleeves up and unbuttoning his top few buttons. I just want to touch those lovely forearms of his, feel them wrap around me as his warm palms press me up against him. I had to start taking two showers at night, one to release the pressure, and then one ice cold one to keep it from building up again before the next day. The cold showers work about a fourth of the time. I still only see him twice a week, but I think about him constantly, during my classes, while I’m doing homework, and most especially when I’m in bed.

It’s been seven months since I started working for the firm, and he still hasn’t asked me out. Should I just ask him already? I'm so scared to ask! What if he says no? What if I’ve been misreading all his actions? Oh gods...what if he’s actually gay? My gaydar is usually spot on, but there have been a _few_ men who really tripped me up and taken me by surprise. Jojen Reed, a dear friend, was one such surprise, though thankfully I hadn’t been in to him.

Now, today, he’s been a bit more angry and  _much_ more shouty all day, and he growls at me that he’d like me to stay after everyone goes home so that we can talk. I manage to keep my emotions in check, but now I’m starting to wonder if I went to far with my pursuit of him and am now going to get fired. Clearly, he’s not happy with me. I finished in his office, the one I saved for last as always, and take a seat in front of his desk, my purse on my lap, the long strap goes over my shoulder and across my chest. I play with it nervously as I wait. I’m slightly regretting wearing such a low-cut top now. At least my skirt is longer than what I’ve been wearing recently, and it goes down to my knees. It was a recent homework project and I’m quite proud of it. It swishes nicely when I move, and even flares if I twirl around. It makes me feel so pretty.

“What the hell are you doing to me?” he demanded once the office was empty except for the two of us.

“I’m not sure I know what you are referring to, Mr. Clegane.” There could be so many things he’s referring to, and I am really at a loss as to what particular bee is in his bonnet.

 _“This,”_ he stood up angrily and my jaw dropped a bit as he pointed at the bulge in his pants, “is what I’m referring to. For the past seven months, you’ve been waltzing in here with your long legs, that cute little ass, juicy, bouncing tits, lips that just beg to be ravished and just driving me to insanity!”

He...thinks I have a cute ass? Juicy tits? Lips that beg to be ravished?! I drive him to insanity! And here I was worried he was gay! I’m so surprised by his declaration that I can’t help but burst into laughter.


	3. Oppa!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an omniscient POV chapter. You get to see everything! :D

Sandor growled and was about to start yelling at Sansa when she smiled at him and said, “Forgive me, I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at myself and this situation. I was worried I was about to be fired for coming on to you too strong! It’s such a relief to hear that it is the exact opposite.”

He’s surprised. “You were...you were coming on to me? Hitting on me?”

She nodded with a grin. “I don’t bake for just anyone, you know. Or let just  _ anyone _ ogle my bottom and breasts as much as I let you.”

“You  _ let _ me?!” It’s almost a squeak, but more manly. He’s mortified, but she thinks it’s adorable.

She pouted slightly, “I was hoping you would have asked me out by now, then you got all angry and shouty and I thought I was about to be fired. Granted, now that I think about it, only Mr. Tyrion can terminate my contract--”

“You call him Mr. Tyrion?” He frowned. She only called him Mr. Clegane.

“He asked me to.” She shrugged. “I call the other one Mr. Blackwater.”

“Oh...what do you call Joffrey?”

“A jerk.”

He laughed at that. “Fair assessment. You can call me Sandor, if you’d like.”

“I could call you,  _ Mr _ . Sandor, if  _ you  _ like,” she purred, standing up and leaning over the desk in between them. Her arms were pushing her breasts together, the low cut neckline seeming even lower to him. He stared blatantly and she could swear she saw the bulge in his pants twitch. She grinned, liking the power she felt over him. 

“That...might be ok…” he said, his voice falling to a whisper. 

“So what now?  _ Mr. _ Sandor,” she asked, walking around the desk and slowly closing the distance between them. She hoped it was a sexy and seductive walk. He couldn't stop staring at her hips. She stopped when he was less than an arms length away.

His voice was barely a whisper, “Now...now, I give you my number and address. If you would like to meet me there in half an hour, I will have dinner and a box of condoms waiting for you. After that...we’ll figure it out from there.”

“What makes you think you’re going to need any condoms tonight?” she asked defiantly, though the lovely tense feeling in her lower abdomen was humming pleasantly. She hoped it was a big box. The single condom she had in her purse would not be enough. 

It was his turn to have the power as he took a step towards her. She held her stance, but she felt like a lamb being gazed on by a hungry predator. It made her insides quiver and she thought she might faint when he leaned down and whispered in her ear in a lovely, slightly demanding voice,  _ “Mr. _ Sandor is asking you nicely, will you come over for dinner and sex? Not necessarily in that order.”

She may have whimpered a little when she nodded in agreement. “I... I don't want to wait,” she whispered. “You said I've driven you to insanity, but you have done the same to me.” She touched his exposed forearms, reveling in the electricity that passed between them. “If I've been flaunting my assets, you have been doing the same, only on a more professional level. Or do you show everyone this softer side of you, show this much skin at work?” Her hand trailed up, pausing briefly at his bicep and then stopping on his shoulder, her other hand undoing a few more buttons of his shirt. “If you knew how much I wished I could see you shirtless, would you have dressed more provocatively as I did?”

“Fuck me…” he groaned and slid his hand over his face. She smiled, happy to have the power back. 

“Oh, I plan to,” she cooed, “but we need to take care of that,” she looked down at his crotch, “before leaving here anyway. I just so happen to have a single condom in my purse.”

“Just so happen?” he asked, raising his good eyebrow in amusement. 

She shrugged. “Like I said, you've been driving me to insanity as well. I've never done anything like this before, but you're different. I want you.” 

He chuckled darkly and she wondered what was going on inside his head. He assumed she meant only physically and considered retracting his offer, if only so that she didn't quit her job and disappear from his life altogether. 

She continued, “I want you to ask me out, on a proper date. I want you to tell me more about yourself. I want to be able to tell you more about myself as well. I want you to be my friend. You make me laugh and smile, and I just want to know you better.” He gave her a bemused smile.

“Is that all?” he asked in a low voice.

“I also want you to make love to me until I can't walk, but I thought I should lead with the nicer things first.” She grinned at him. 

He threw back his head and laughed. “Fair enough,” he said when he calmed down. “I can happily oblige you before we leave here.” He tugged at the purse strap. “This will have to go.” She discarded it quickly, retrieving the condom before letting it hit the floor. He lifted her up onto the desktop, fumbling under her skirt as he kissed her clumsily, very distracted by the woman in front of him. She didn't mind, feeling just as nervous and excited as he did. He managed to get her panties off when a knock at the door startled them. The door opened before they could draw apart and Tyrion and Bronn found them in their embrace. Sansa blushed furiously and buried her face in Sandor's shoulder, as Sandor growled at his partners. “What the fuck are you two still doing here?”

Bronn sniggered, holding his hand over his mouth to try and keep from laughing. It wasn't working. Tyrion had his lips pressed together and was doing a more admirable job. 

“Hound,” Tyrion said, straining to keep the mirth out of his voice, “we were going to ask you if you'd like to get some drinks with us, but you seem to be otherwise engaged. Maybe tomorrow? The two of you can join us for a triple date to the bowling alley? Miss Stark?”

“That sounds lovely,” Sansa squeaked, her voice slightly muffled from Sandor's shirt. She had a death grip on his sleeves and the two men could see how bright red her ears were. 

“Well, we'll leave you two to your evening,” Bronn said magnanimously. “Good night.”

The others all bid each other goodnight and Bronn closed the door behind Tyrion and himself, leaving Sandor and Sansa to their fun. 

“Well, looks like I owe you a steak dinner,” Tyrion said as they walked out of the office. 

Bronn laughed. “I told you enough times. They're head over heels for each other. Knew it would happen soon.”

Tyrion waved his hand dismissively at Bronn, disappointed he hadn't had the sense to see the obvious and therefore win the bet of how long it would take for those two to get together. “Tell you what, double or nothing, they don't last more than six months.” 

“You're taking me to get steak, you wanker. New bet, they not only stay together, they get married within two, no, three years. Loser pays for the bridal shower and wedding gifts, but both our names go on it.”

“He’s going to screw it up somehow.”

Bronn nodded. “No doubt. But she's the forgiving type. And his screw up will most likely be something forgivable. So, what do you say?”

Tyrion sighed. “Deal, but I bet it will take more than three years. She seems like the patient type, too.”

Bronn grinned as they shook on it. 


End file.
